<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>now we’re in the ring (and we’re coming for blood) by ipreferfiction</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29864274">now we’re in the ring (and we’re coming for blood)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipreferfiction/pseuds/ipreferfiction'>ipreferfiction</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we live or die to take the throne [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bonding, Gen, Planet Dromund Kaas (Star Wars), Planet Korriban | Moraband (Star Wars), Political Alliances, Sith Inquisitor Outlander, Valkorion raises the Jedi Knight, also known as: i love Korriban a NORMAL amount, but with people who view murder as a fun hobby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:08:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29864274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipreferfiction/pseuds/ipreferfiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“It is good to see the former Darth Nox among us once more,” the woman—</i>young, <i>of an age with Jana’s body if not her birth date—says smoothly, the white markings on her lekku and montrals painted red in the throne room’s light. Eyes the color of molten rock stare down from a face so pale its own white markings are all but lost in the pink tinge, and faint black veins of corruption curve down her face and along her neck. She is a statue of rose marble, beautiful as an adder and just as likely to bite, judging by the flash of fangs when she draws her lips into a smile. She is also an alien sitting on the highest seat in the Sith Empire, with a Force connection so strong it feels like a burning sun even from this distance. She is, in a word, </i>impressive.</p><p>
  <i>“Empress,” Jana intones, inclining her head. “It is an honor to receive such a welcome upon my arrival.”</i>
</p><p>[or: two empresses meet.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Sith Inquisitor &amp; Female Sith Inquisitor, Female Sith Inquisitor &amp; Female Sith Warrior, mentioned Andronikos Revel/Female Sith Inquisitor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>we live or die to take the throne [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153424</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>now we’re in the ring (and we’re coming for blood)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>as it turns out, our Noxes are way too similar, and with some minor finagling, it turns out there <i>was</i> a way to get them both involved. featuring: two Dark V Sith who should absolutely not be allowed to interact but who get to have a very fun political alliance and friendship. for some context on the Malgus stuff (which <i>will</i> be expanded upon in a later installment), Riisa manages to escape the Empire’s custody, and something bad happens that causes her to go for the nuclear option to crush the Empire: using Malgus against them, even though that means activating restraints similar to her own. Malgus slips his restraints once and murders Acina, intending to come back and kill Riisa too but being... intercepted along the way. all of this is going to get a lot more detail in the future.</p><p>title is from “glory and gore” by lorde.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Eternal Empress of Zakuul uncrosses her legs, leans back against the Throne, and listens to the faint sound of the water endlessly flowing from the platform’s edge down into the darkness below. The sharp whip of her galaxy is reflected in the almost-still channel circling the Throne and the walkway that leads to it, and Jana watches the flashes of stars pass over her, lets herself sink into the utter, crushing </span>
  <em>
    <span>emptiness</span>
  </em>
  <span> of space. Here, in this room, surrounded by black and white and gold and a void that could swallow her whole, she is </span>
  <em>
    <span>home.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>For one glorious moment, she is alone, and then the door to the throne room slides open and Rheja and Senya stride onto the walkway, steps perfectly synchronized. The two of them have become somewhat of an unlikely pair, but Senya’s expertise has helped Rheja in her position as guard-captain, and Rheja in turn has acclimated Senya, newly appointed as High Justice, to the politics of the galaxy itself, especially among the Sith. If they are to be Jana’s allies—which Empress Acina tentatively is, though they have no official treaty—then Senya and the rest of her family will need to understand the Empire. And just like the Tiralls have learned about the rest of the galaxy, they have taught Jana more about Zakuul than she ever would have expected to know before she took the Throne.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Empress,” Rheja greets, kneeling for a quick bow before she levers herself to her feet again. With a sideways glance at Senya, she steps forward, stopping just shy of the smooth stairs that lead to the Throne itself. Dressed in white and black with golden accents, she looks as Zakuulan as any other, save for the red Sith tattoos etched into her forehead and chin. She has taken to her new role better than almost any of the other former Imperial and Republic citizens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jana waves a hand for her to continue. “What’s the issue?” she asks; the Force is wrapped around Rheja and Senya both in twining worry, and anything that bothers both of them cannot be good for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve just received a report from the Sith Empire,” Rheja replies, her fingers going to her belt and the Zakuulan lightsabers hanging there. A habit she only does when she’s received a shock, and that doesn’t bode well for whatever this report contained. “It’s been sent to you already, but we could use your input. On Odessen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jana frowns a little at that. She returns to Odessen with fair frequency, but she prefers to rule her empire from its </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> seat of power (not to mention a vastly more suitable throne room). Even with only a few remnants of the Eternal Fleet, she has real power—and the people of Zakuul are finally learning to let go of Valkorion’s rule. Bleeding gods, he really did his work brainwashing them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But anything that could summon her to Odessen outside of her routine visits…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waves her hand over the Throne’s arm and pulls up a holographic display, searching through her messages until the most recent one from Rheja makes itself apparent. An official report, and judging by the level of encryption, one from Cipher Nine. That in and of itself is interesting; Nine instated herself as Keeper of Imperial Intelligence some time earlier, after some intelligence leak that left the Empire reeling, and since then her contributions to the Alliance have been sporadic at best. But this is a real report, officially titled and designated, and it says—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> no wonder Rheja looked so shocked, no wonder it merited an actual transmission from Keeper herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Empress Acina is dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you know?” Jana demands as she scans the report. Killed by Malgus—and oh, she chained him, of course he would break free, of course he would lash out. Sith have never taken well to being caged. And attached to the writeup are holos of the scene; the murder is certainly brutal enough for a Sith taking revenge. Even Jana’s killings never usually had that much… </span>
  <em>
    <span>blood.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Rheja clasps her hands behind her back, some of her usual straight-spined professionality draining away. “Not much. The preliminary report arrived about two hours ago, and we spent quite some time trying to verify it, got some of our people on Dromund Kaas to tell us what they know. Apparently over the past few months, there’s been some oddness surrounding Malgus; from what I understand he simply vanished, hasn’t been seen by anyone alive since then. Nine makes some note of it in her report—” Rheja gestures to a line partway through the block of text— “but whatever happened there, evidently it ended with Acina’s death. I’ve talked to Lana; she got the same report, and evidently she’s working on something right now, I’m not quite sure what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And this—Jana has been waiting since she took the Eternal Throne for a moment like this. The Sith Empire is her home, bloody and cruel as it is, and she has longed to return to it since she woke up and found out that the galaxy had spun on without her. Oh, her pieces aren’t quite in place yet, but even with the few remnants of the Eternal Fleet that she has, she is a galactic power. She can act now, take the throne on Dromund Kaas and rule as Sith Empress as well—an extra blow to the shadow of Vitiate that never quite leaves her head, dead as he may be. She’s already taken one of his empires from out underneath his moldering corpse, what’s another?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any response from the Dark Council?” she asks Rheja, who shifts in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing major. No one’s made a bid for the Throne, not that we’ve heard. Though there have been some issues with some of the remnants of Acina’s power; it’s not entirely certain what the deal is there. More reports incoming, in all likelihood. If Keeper isn’t too busy with her war, of course,” she says grimly. “It sounds like Malgus has something to do with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get me a contingent of guards,” Jana commands. “I’ve ordered my shuttle prepared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Odessen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. We’re going to Dromund Kaas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rheja doesn’t even blink, just dips her head again. Jana can see the wheels turning in her sister’s head; she knows what Jana intends to do, and she knows who to bring to… ease the transition of power, so to speak. They are both Sith, no matter how Zakuulan they act and dress these days, and the Empire is Jana’s mother and her home, the place that made her Sith and made her </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It made Rheja too, made her a Wrath and made her feared and respected and hated in equal measures. They may not share the same ambition like they share a face and the almost-forgotten green their eyes once were, but there is a wildness in the Empire that will forever call them home. Power is power is power, and Jana, born from dust, raised with triptych masters of pain and shackles and servitude, set free by lightning and the Force in her veins and hands soaked red in the blood of anyone who stood against her, has never wanted anything more than she wants the galaxy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(If Jana Vassi were the sort of Sith prone to self-reflection, she might consider that her desire to rule is born from a bone-deep fear of </span>
  <em>
    <span>being</span>
  </em>
  <span> ruled, of going back to blurred-together years spent young and powerless with a slave collar around her neck and a chip beneath her skin, with only a four-letter name to call her own, flinching at the cadence of her masters’ footsteps, looking for any chance to run. A lord at twenty-two, Dark Councillor at twenty-three, always reaching higher, sloughing off master after master after master until there was nowhere higher to go, until she had a throne and an empire and still she wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>more.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But if Jana were the type of person who could look inward at herself like that, she might recognize why she was so utterly </span>
  <em>
    <span>afraid</span>
  </em>
  <span> when ghosts seized even her mind from her, a mind that not even slavery or the blood sands of Korriban could take from her, the one impenetrable part of her she could always call her own when her mortal body failed her. And Jana, Eternal Empress of Zakuul, former Darth Nox, slayer of the Immortal Emperor and a woman whose body isn’t even twenty-six yet, has made an art form of not examining the dark, terrified places within her that she likes to pretend don’t exist.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can feel it even before the shuttle has made landfall. Dromund Kaas, in all its untamed glory, lightning and rain and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>wildness</span>
  </em>
  <span> that not even Sith can touch—nature in its purest form, beautiful and deadly and </span>
  <em>
    <span>home.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not even Korriban, tomb world that it is, can match Dromund Kaas and all it has to offer. Oh, she loves Korriban, loves it for what it is—thousands of years of history and culture, untouched tombs and ransacked ones, ancient ghosts and older skeletons and statues that watch over it all with unseeing eyes—but ever since she took that first hesitant step onto the jungle floor and felt the Dark come alive around her, this storm-swept planet has been her only true home. Not even a throne room that scrapes the vault of space can take that from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Years ago, before carbonite stole half a decade of her life and her seat on the Dark Council and everything she earned clawing her way to the top, she stood on this path and watched lightning crash around her and reached into the Force until she </span>
  <em>
    <span>became</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, until her body was nothing but a vessel for the electricity arcing through the sky and the ground, until she learned what it was to feel every nerve in her body alight with crackling energy. Gods, how that memory lives inside her, how it comes alive every time purple lightning crackles across her fingertips. The world, in its simplest moments, narrows to flesh and electricity and the raw, unharnessed power of a storm that could bring down a city if it wanted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nature is impersonal. It doesn’t matter how long you spend on Dromund Kaas, the planet will kill you in a heartbeat if you make one misstep. Some Sith hate that, feel as though they should be the exceptions, with all their arrogance and unfocused anger. Jana takes delight in killing those ones, and she never lets herself forget that this planet doesn’t care if she lives or dies—and Jana, in the end, is the one who has managed to crawl to the top over the bodies of everyone who forgot that she was just as dangerous as undirected lightning in the steel-grey sky over Kaas City. There is a simplicity to the unpredictability of storms and Sith, and Jana learned to speak the languages of their power years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Jana will survive, and she will endure, and Dromund Kaas will be her home until the last drop of Kallig’s blood has faded from the galaxy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Citadel is, for the most part, as Jana remembered when she and Rheja step from their taxi onto its rain-slick balcony (she is accustomed to taking Andronikos as security instead of her sister, but her husband is out somewhere near Ossus poking at Republic forces, and no matter how much she misses him, he won’t be back for another month at least). The faces are unfamiliar, apprentices and acolytes and Force-blind city employees scuttling to and fro, but the durasteel walls and black and red interior are the same as when Jana last left it. Aside from one brief meeting with Acina, most of which was spent trying not to get killed in the jungle, she hasn’t set foot here since just after Ziost. Marr had been head of the Council back then, practically head of the Empire, and she’d just been another Dark Councillor, albeit the youngest in Imperial history. And now she comes home, head of an empire that tried to kill her, and prepares to take the seat she’s sought since Korriban.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Empress of the Sith Empire. That is a title she will </span>
  <em>
    <span>delight</span>
  </em>
  <span> in using.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is, however, a concern. The Dark Council hasn’t had nearly the amount of conflict it should when a power void like this appears. There hasn’t been a single member who ended up dead or disappeared. Oh, the usual amount of infighting has been noted and carefully recorded, but the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sith Empress</span>
  </em>
  <span> was murdered. At least two or three of them should have tried to fill the space she left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet… nothing. Which means that either the Dark Council has no members ambitious enough to try for Sith Emperor or Empress, or there isn’t a power vacuum to be filled in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> means that someone has already taken the throne of the Sith Empire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pair of guards in red from head to toe, not an inch of skin showing, meets her at the entrance of the Citadel’s inner sanctum. Imperial guards, bearing the sigil of the Empress. Acina’s, she would think, but she knows that any of Acina’s guards are dead or on the run. Someone else has been replacing them. Someone with the power to appoint new imperial guards, to summon the Eternal Empress not in person but with guards whose necks she could snap in an instant. It’s a display of power, and a good one. Whoever is sitting on the throne that should be Jana’s, they know what they’re doing, and they are good at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps Jana won’t kill them. That would be an interesting change of plans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair of guards stop in front of the massive double doors to the throne room and take up positions, one on either side, as they slide open. Jana finds herself washed in red light, black and gold robes tinted bloody like they always used to be when she herself had a seat here. The throne room is magnificent, and dramatic, and so utterly </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sith</span>
  </em>
  <span> that she loves it immediately. No matter how Zakuulan she dresses these days, no matter how many gold runes trace the lines of her cape of the flow of fabric hanging down the front of her armor, no matter even the sharp-edged circlet of gold nestled in her hair, she will forever be the daughter of black and red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Sith Empire welcomes the Eternal Empress of Zakuul,” calls a rich voice from far ahead as Jana takes her first step into the throne room. Melodic, with an undercurrent like the rivers through the Dromund Kaas jungle and a perfect Imperial lilt to her words, there are </span>
  <em>
    <span>thorns</span>
  </em>
  <span> beneath her speech. Expertly hidden, to be sure, but her voice is all silk and the spitting plasma of a lightsaber.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jana comes to a halt a respectable distance from the base of the throne, its occupant hidden by gauzy banners of red and black. A shape is visible, backlit with the same red light as the room itself, but Jana can make out no more than a shadow—the sweeping lines of an arm, the curve of robes. She can feel unease prickling down Rheja’s spine where she has come to a halt at the back of the room, but Jana is only curious. She knows intimately the intricacies of power in this room, has been a part of them in the same way any Wrath is forever outside the structure. And the person sitting on this throne—they know those same tangles of alliances and enemies, know them well enough to be in command within three weeks of the last empress’ murder. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a fascinating puzzle to consider: who? No one on the Dark Council when Jana held it was clever enough to do that (except for Marr, who was practically running the Empire anyway, and Marr has been dead for six years now). So just who </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> this Council newcomer?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The curtains begin to move, pulled back by some invisible hand. More of the throne is revealed, inch by blackened inch, until at last the gauze is lifted away and Jana is left staring at the oh-so-clever usurper who took what would have been her second throne.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is good to see the former Darth Nox among us once more,” the woman—</span>
  <em>
    <span>young,</span>
  </em>
  <span> of an age with Jana’s body if not her birth date—says smoothly, the white markings on her lekku and montrals painted red in the throne room’s light. Eyes the color of molten rock stare down from a face so pale its own white markings are all but lost in the pink tinge, and faint black veins of corruption curve down her face and along her neck. She is a statue of rose marble, beautiful as an adder and just as likely to bite, judging by the flash of fangs when she draws her lips into a smile. She is also an alien sitting on the highest seat in the Sith Empire, with a Force connection so strong it feels like a burning sun even from this distance. She is, in a word, </span>
  <em>
    <span>impressive</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Empress,” Jana intones, inclining her head. “It is an honor to receive such a welcome upon my arrival.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darth Umbra,” the Togruta says airily, smile turning just a hint sharper at the corners. “My name, that is. You were quite the inspiration for my own career, you know. Although I never could beat your record for youngest named to the Dark Council; your rise was quite impressive, I must say. I hope you don’t mind that I took your throne—I’m sure you would have preferred this one, given your inclinations before you disappeared—but you did already have one, and this seemed fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jana </span>
  <em>
    <span>likes</span>
  </em>
  <span> this one. Sith ambition, incredible power, just enough deference to Jana without turning her into one of the insufferable bootlickers always flooding about her. Her Force signature, when Jana extends her senses to truly take it in, is Dark, shot through with veins of power it would be nearly impossible to recognize for anyone outside a very narrow field. Dust and howling wind echoing through ancient stone passageways, power and bones and lightsaber hilts in skeletal fingers, need and greed and the red sands of Korriban.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spend long enough among the dead, and the dead will take something from you just like you steal from them. Jana knows that well, knows she feels more like a scion of tombs and temples than she does a living Sith to those who see her in the Force, knows the way that ancient power has cascaded its veins through her entire aura, twining with the ghosts that give her strength and her own innately deep connection to the Force. To see it in someone else, in another Sith this powerful…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Jana replies with a slight smile, “perhaps two thrones would have been excessive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another glimpse of sharp teeth—and she’s used to </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> implicit threat, at least, between the Battlemaster and the first Wrath and all the </span>
  <em>
    <span>others</span>
  </em>
  <span> that somehow ended up in Alliance high command—and Darth Umbra says, “I believe the former Empresses of your current throne proved quite well how beneficial unity can be. If you would be open to it, the Sith Empire and Zakuul could have a strong alliance, one that would benefit us both. I understand you came here for a throne, but I hope this might smooth any ruffled feathers that might arise from such a disappointment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t a difficult decision. Jana is quite open to an official treaty, as she tells the new Sith Empress, though perhaps not the </span>
  <em>
    <span>exact</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of unity that Vaylin and Lia had when they ruled Zakuul—she’s walked in on them one too many times as it is. Umbra snorts at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Acina was lax in her duties,” she says, examining one hand. “No one who leashed a Sith Lord with the same restraints used on </span>
  <em>
    <span>intelligence agents</span>
  </em>
  <span> and built a power base on that lie would have lasted as our ruler. She ascended to this throne because a Darth on a chain handed it to her, not because she deserved it. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>beneath</span>
  </em>
  <span> us to act like that. We aren’t barbarians, we’re the height of the Sith Empire, and Acina humiliated us. I hope to rectify her errors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem to be doing a better job already,” Jana says, and it’s not empty flattery. “Granted, this isn’t a </span>
  <em>
    <span>challenge,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but you seem to have far more sense than your predecessor. Leashing a Sith to play assassin embarrasses the entire Empire. None of us like collars around our throats.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a gamble, and she says it lightly, but Umbra gives her a calculating look nonetheless. She won’t be able to see the scars—even if the collar of Jana’s armor wasn’t high enough to hide them, the electrical burns are on the back of her neck, not the front—but her history isn’t a secret, not exactly. A former </span>
  <em>
    <span>slave</span>
  </em>
  <span> being named to the Dark Council at twenty-three turned heads, and not always in a good way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we don’t,” Umbra says at last. “Of course I have more sense than Acina. I was a twenty-four-year-old alien and former </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleasure slave</span>
  </em>
  <span> when I earned my seat on the Dark Council. If I had </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> sense, I wouldn’t have survived Korriban.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then we have common ground.” Jana lifts her chin and looks Umbra in the eyes, gold against red. “Would you care to discuss the terms of our alliance, then, Empress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Umbra </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiles.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would, Empress.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dromund Kaas may be home, but Korriban is where Jana was truly born, where the last shackles of her slavery were broken around her feet. When she dies, this will be her resting place, another burial plot among the hundreds in the Valley of the Dark Lords; for now, it is the world that gave her strength and blood and her ancestor’s lightsaber and mask. Of every planet in the galaxy, Korriban and its cold deserts, its empty tombs, is her favorite. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> this world down to her bones, down to the blood of the ancestor who once reigned here. She has let Korriban touch her very core, and in return, this dead world has allowed her to dwell within its stones and sands without being devoured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Korriban has </span>
  <em>
    <span>welcomed</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, and it is good to come home to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel I must apologize,” Umbra says from nearby as her private shuttle lands. “When I took this estate under my control, you were believed to have died, and it was a shame to let all those artifacts just molder. Besides, someone less deserving might have eventually broken in and stolen them, and that would have been unfortunate indeed.” She flashes Jana a fanged smile and steps from her shuttle, red and black robes twisting in the chill wind of the mesa top. The gusts are strong enough that even the ends of her lekku drift and bat against the swaths of fabric on her chest and back, and when Jana follows her, the short cape and stretch of cloth that hangs down the front of her own armored breastplate are immediately whipped around her. Inconvenient, yes, but the view—the entire Valley of the Dark Lords spread out beneath her, dozens of miles of tombs and twisting halls, of statues that bow before the sun and the Force and Korriban’s ancient gods—is well worth a little wind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand,” Jana replies, amused. “Though negotiations will be in order; I’d rather not have my entire collection lost to me forever if I can help it, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> rather fond of this view.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Umbra laughs at that. “I can see why. It’s the envy of most of my peers. Would you care to come inside? We have a lot to discuss, you and I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jana acquiesces. Her stronghold, a massive temple she spent the better part of a year making livable, looks largely the same on the outside—with the addition of banners bearing the Imperial sigil hanging where Jana had once displayed her own seal. All the statues, all the monuments, they remain scattered throughout the sandy yard, changed very little by time and the Korribani winds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The interior, though it bears little resemblance to how Jana left it, is just as imperious as the outside. Banners drape from walls hung with weapons, and the reddish stone all but glows in the light of crystals hanging from the ceiling in clusters of red, orange, and yellow. Artifacts are scattered throughout; Jana recognizes a few, but most are unfamiliar—and </span>
  <em>
    <span>powerful.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Umbra has a good eye for these things, that much is evident.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, she shouldn’t have expected anything else from a woman who took her Dark Council seat, her stronghold, and the Sith Empire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The treaty negotiations aren’t difficult, all things considered. They talk well into the evening, hammering out specifics—basic trade terms, borders, aid in times of war. The minutiae will be debated for weeks, of course, by appointees who specialize in a hundred fields, but for now, this crude first draft will serve. An official treaty serves Zakuul far better than an unratified alliance. Jana </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> care for the wellbeing of her new empire; if she treats it poorly, she is an unfit empress and not worthy of her title, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>refuses</span>
  </em>
  <span> to fail. Vitiate already tried to take everything she had. Now, she will build up his empire on his very ashes, will forge it stronger than it ever was under his rule. The Eternal Empire is </span>
  <em>
    <span>hers.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Even with only half the Fleet, even with the entire galaxy outside her grasp, she has the Eternal Throne and the power of Iokath, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>will not falter.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Only after the bones of the treaty are written does Darth Umbra lean back in her chair and conversationally say, “So, would you care to see the artifact collection? I believe your tastes and mine align quite well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A good portion of this collection came from Jana herself; she agrees, intrigued by the power the Togruta must have been able to collect. She still wants hers back, alongside this stronghold, but negotiations can come later. Now, she simply wishes to revel in the power held here. It has been too long since she was able to step inside a tomb or temple, and though this is a pale imitation, it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why Zakuul?” Umbra asks when she has led Jana to a door carved with runes and words of power. She isn’t looking at Jana when she says it, eyes fixed intently on the door’s complicated lock, but her curiosity is evident in the Force.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why take its throne, you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Eternal Empire tried to kill you. If you had wanted, you could have razed it just as easily as ruled it.” The door swings open under Umbra’s hand, and she gestures for Jana to proceed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jana pauses for a moment as she steps over the threshold of the artifact room. “The Eternal Throne needed someone to sit upon it,” she finally says. “It gave me a fleet and an empire, and all I had to do was kill another ghost in my head. It wasn’t as if any of the Tiralls were fit to hold it after all this time. Better that I rule the empire I barely had to fight for than destroy my power base and attempt to take Acina’s throne.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sith ambition,” Umbra says with a razor-edged smile. “You seem to have steered your new empire well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Failure is intolerable for a Sith of my station,” Jana replies, returning the smile with a sharp grin of her own. “The youngest Dark Councillor in the history of the Empire does not </span>
  <em>
    <span>fail.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither does the Sith Empress. Welcome, Empress Kallig, to my collection.” Umbra gestures with one elegant hand to the reddish expanse of the room, from its immaculately carved walls—carved reliefs etched with ancient history, Tulak Hord and Aloysius Kallig and Naga Sadow, the first Dark Jedi who landed on Korriban and conquered its people, the razing of the planet and its reclamation—to the diluted light pouring in from behind clouded red crystals set high in the ceiling and etched with runes of Sith power. This was always Jana’s favorite room in the temple, and it remains little changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jana runs a finger over one of the suits of armor standing between artifact displays. Its ancient metal and leather surface is as clean as anything can be on Korriban, and though it is a new addition, she approves. Faint wisps of purple smoke rise from the artifacts on either side of it, and in the Force, they taste of stone and ruin. Oh, there is </span>
  <em>
    <span>power</span>
  </em>
  <span> here, like calling to like in tangled webs of millennia-old rituals that ignite this chamber when Jana closes her eyes and </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels</span>
  </em>
  <span> for it. This is belonging, this dead world and all it contains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This,” Jana says, exhaling slowly, “is quite the impressive display.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see why you would want it back,” Umbra answers, picking up a small stone statuette with a strangely hollow Force signature. “Though I am loath to part with most of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So were most of the Sith I took it from,” Jana murmurs. “I was the head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge for a reason,” she says in a more normal tone, loud enough for Umbra’s blue and white montrals to pick up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And when I took my place, it was Ancient Knowledge that I targeted for a reason.” Umbra’s rise to power is a fascinating one, as unlikely as Jana’s own was. She would be a formidable enemy, to be sure, but she will make a </span>
  <em>
    <span>far</span>
  </em>
  <span> more interesting ally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and I,” Jana says slowly, “are going to have some fun, aren’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are,” Umbra says with another flash of fangs, and extends an arm towards her. “Allies, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Allies,” Jana echoes, and electricity crackles over her arm when she clasps the Sith Empress’ hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their enemies will never stand a chance.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>